by Corey Ostman
Raj touched a button. The middle forward viewscreen went opaque and showed a high-resolution map of a gash in Mars.
“Ma’adim Vallis,” he said in awe.
“What’s that?” asked Grace.
“It’s the main southern route out of Gusev crater. Used extensively for ground transport before the colonists had enough cruisers for flight.”
Mazz came forward, brushed Raj’s hand aside, and returned the viewscreen to an exterior view.
“Follow me, please,” it said.
Mazz left the bridge and headed down the corridor.
“I guess the robot didn’t want you messing with the bridge,” Grace said.
Raj left after a last longing look at the consoles. They followed Mazz to a series of cabins.
“Mr. Archdale’s cabin. Miss Yvette’s,” said Mazz, walking from door to door. “And this is the guest cabin.”
Grace peered inside. Utilitarian and spacious. She elbowed Raj. “Bunks,” she whispered. “It’ll be just like academy days.”
“Oh joy,” said Raj.
Mazz spun and headed toward the ladder. They hustled to catch up. Grace felt as though they were being rushed through. Were they? Or was it just Mazz’s robotic efficiency?
Below, the robot proceeded aft and stopped at a bulkhead door. They were only allowed to look, not enter, the engine room. Mazz held the door open, and when Grace moved forward despite its warning, the robot shut the entrance.
“Not safe,” it said.
Mazz spun around and headed to another section of the ship. After trying the door to the engine room and finding it unmovable, Grace followed. Raj trailed Grace, puffing and blowing in his anxiety.
“What is it you’re looking for, Grace? Can we leave now?” Raj pleaded in her dermal dot.
“Basic intelligence gathering, Raj,” she said. “Relax.”
As they walked, Grace took note of the cruiser’s recent repairs. They passed a stretch of open circuitry in the lower hallway, with what seemed like thousands of winking status lights. On the lower deck, several ceiling panels had been removed to install new conduits. Grace wondered if Mazz was doing all of the repairs. It didn’t look very capable, as robots went.
“Crew quarters. Also doubles as our infirmary.”
They were in a large room now. Three sets of bunk beds lined one wall and in the corner, Grace saw an airlock. There was also a series of lockers, one of them labeled Pressure Suits.
“But where is the crew?” Grace asked.
Mazz said nothing. It pointed them back toward the ladder.
The tour ended abruptly at the gangplank. Mazz led them there and turned, without a word, back to its work.
“See? That didn’t take long,” murmured Grace as they walked to their rented cruiser.
“And did you learn anything that you couldn’t have found out tomorrow?” Raj asked.
“Tomorrow’s an official tour. Today was an unannounced inspection.”
They stopped at their cruiser’s berth and looked at the craft. It seemed sad and small compared to the Scout: a gray, dingy cylinder with four stabilizers and a single, anemic ion drive aft.
“We’re spoiled now,” Grace said.
Raj laughed. “Yeah.”
“There’s not going to be a robot to come and give us a tour, is there?” she said.
“Well, I’m sure Tim would pipe us aboard—if you asked him nicely.”
Grace smiled. “I’m still surprised about Mazz. How powerful is Richard Archdale, that he still has a robot?”
Raj shrugged. “Like I said. I think Mazz is fairly primitive—”
“Didn’t seem primitive to me.”
“That was your first robot, Grace. Just wait.”
“I think I can keep waiting, thanks.”
Tim chimed in her dermal.
“Yes, Tim?”
“Gonna come aboard? Or are you two just going to stand outside forever?”
“That depends. Are you going to roll over, or beg?”
“Woof,” said Tim, utterly unamused.
Raj pointed to the hatch. Grace fingered her ptenda and heard a dull groan as bolts retracted and the hatch hinged out and away with a stubborn squeal.
“Tim, you in there?” Raj poked his head through the hatch.
“Just get in!” Grace gave Raj a playful push.
She followed behind, taking a look around. To her left were two seats facing forward, pilot and co-pilot. The craft didn’t have a viewport, but a lone display panel sensed their proximity and showed the exterior view.
Grace turned right. Their shipment containers were stowed beneath the wall-mounted sleeping racks. Tim stretched and slunk down from the largest container.
“Welcome aboard,” he said.
“Terrier,” Raj said. “Good choice.”
“Is that all you have to say?” said Tim. “It’s about time you guys finally showed up. I’m a bored fox in an empty henhouse.”
Raj grinned. “Grace’s fault. She has trouble walking in a straight line.”
“I wanted to see the Scout,” she said, glancing around and tossing the paisley carpetbag on the deck. “Hey, where’s there a place to sit?”
“Up front,” Tim said.
Grace looked at the two uncomfortable seats and decided to stand.
The PodPooch stretched, canine-like, along the floor. “How was the Scout?”
“Comfortable. Opulent. Spacious. Did I mention comfortable?” Grace grinned. “And I met my first robot today.”
“I thought I was your first robot,” Tim said.
“Bah, you don’t count. You’re an upload,” said Grace, bending over and scratching Tim behind the ears. “Besides, you’re so much cuter than Mazz.”
Raj pulled a sleeping rack down from the wall and reclined. He put his hands behind his head and stretched. “What have you been doing this whole time, Tim?”
Tim growled. “Going stir crazy.”
“Huh. I bet,” Grace said. “Well, we’re here to liberate you.”
“And get your things,” muttered Tim.
“Of course. We like you.” Grace grinned.
“And I’ll alert the port to hold our rental for a month,” said Raj. “I’ve become very attached to her comforts.”
Tim padded over to Yvette’s bag.
“What is that strange bag, Grace?” Tim said. “It smells like—” He sneezed. “Dust.”
She smiled. “That’s for you, Tim.”
“Figures.”
• • •
It was early afternoon when they arrived back at Richard’s apartment. He and Yvette greeted them warmly.
“I’ve made all of the arrangements,” Richard said. “The two of you can stay here while the Scout is being prepared.”
Yvette was poking the carpetbag. “Did you…?”
“Wanna see?” Grace put the bag on the floor and stepped back, grinning.
The little girl opened the bag.
“Oh, a PodPooch!”
Tim Trouncer emerged from the bag, his blue tongue lolling out. He had changed to a feathery-eared spaniel.
“Woof.”
He sounded more human than dog, but Yvette was charmed. She knelt and threw her arms around his head. His mimic-covered face flickered through a series of comic canine expressions. Grace muffled a laugh.
Raj glanced around the apartment. “How’s my patient?”
“I’m fine,” came a voice from the doorway. Quint leaned against it, looking pale.
“How—when’d you wake up?” Raj said. “I dialed back your medbind so you’d get some rest.”
Lie, Raj, Grace thought. You had him sedated so he wouldn’t attack our hosts.
“He’s fine,” Yvette beamed. “I turned off the medbind.” She looked to her father with large, apologetic eyes. “I wanted somebody to play with.”
Richard shook his head ruefully. “Nearly gave me a heart attack. Walked in around noon and the two of them were here playing leapscape.”
Grace raised an eyebrow.
“Martian version of leapfrog, Grace,” Richard said.
“Yvette can get nearly to the ceiling.” Quint said, a touch of pride in his voice. “Can’t you, Yvette?”
Yvette demonstrated eagerly, bounding across the room. Quint laughed with her, until his eyes met Grace’s probing stare.
Quint swallowed.
“Look—ah—Protector Donner. I’m sorry about last night. I panicked. The first shot was an accident, and then they started firing at me.”
Grace folded her arms as Quint’s gaze dropped to the floor. Yvette came to his side and put her arm around him. She looked up at Grace.
“You’re not really going to torture him, are you?”
Chapter 6
It was early, but Richard Archdale always rose early. He reclined at his desk in his highback leather chair, fingers intertwined over his stomach, and pondered the repair schedule for the Scout, quickly falling under the spell of facts and figures. But it was fruitless. He could move things around all he wanted, but without twofers, the Scout wouldn’t be ready to fly anytime soon.
He looked back at the grim news streaming from his fact agents. The Interdome Council was trying to investigate the twofer exodus, short-handed as they were. They had to show they were doing something about the situation, or they would lose control of the population. The signs of the council’s panic were troubling. Three weeks ago, it was the cancelling of all interplanetary travel. Then martial law. Soon they’d lock everything down.
Richard dry-washed his face and sucked air through his nose. He had to launch soon.
His eyes fell past the clutter of his desk to the picture of his grandfather. Archie Archdale. Richard loved that particular picture, his grandfather squatting with arms extended, steel-blue eyes beaming and a broad grin framed by a perfectly cut silver mustache and beard. Much might have been explained had he found his grandfather’s archive. The design of the Essex robots, the miniature thorium reactors and the self-directed microscopic robots Archie had called “pawns”—so many creations lost with the Essex nineteen years ago. Richard had never located the data cache. It had probably been aboard the Essex the entire time.
Three weeks ago, he’d caught the first inkling of the twofer exodus. He’d had suspicions then, but it wasn’t until last week that he connected his grandfather with the twofers’ behaviors. He remembered his grandfather’s robot designs and their characteristics of free will, eerily similar to what the dome twofers were doing.
A week ago he’d settled his short-term affairs and moved basic necessities to the Scout. Yesterday, he and his daughter were still planning their final dash to the rim port when Protector Donner and Dr. Chanho arrived.
Fate had dealt him a strong pair. The protector and the doctor came willingly, right when he needed their help. He liked them instantly and felt they would be trustworthy friends under any circumstances. He admitted to himself that he was taking advantage of them, though they were just as curious as he. To be fair, he hadn’t asked them why they had wanted to get off Mars so rapidly. Their needs complemented his, that’s all. He hoped that, with all the excitement, ulterior motives—theirs and his—would remain under the table.
Richard jolted as a tiny hand touched his shoulder.
“What’s wrong Poppy?” Yvette bit her bottom lip and brushed the hair away from her eyes. She looks so like her mother, Richard thought. The idea of a family had come to Richard late in his life, but now it was what mattered most.
“Nothing,” he whipped up a reassuring smile. “Why?”
“You were frowning.”
“Was I?” He lifted her onto his lap. “I guess I didn’t like what I was reading.”
She leaned over the desk to get a better look at the screens there. Her eyes returned to his face. Yvette attempted to frown and furrow her brow, too. Richard laughed.
“What didn’t you like reading?”
“Oh, nothing. I just hope we can repair the Scout before the dome people confiscate it or close the port.”
“The Scout can’t fly, Poppy?
“No. No, she can fly. There are just a lot of other things left to do to make sure she’s ready for travel.” He hugged her and stroked her long hair.
“Can’t you just fix the rest on the way?” Yvette asked, examining his vest pocket and pulling out a stylus.
Richard blinked.
“Remind me why I don’t run these things by you first?” he asked his daughter.
Yvette stopped waving the stylus like a wand. “Remind you? Again?”
“Your solution is a good one, Yvette. I hadn’t wanted to leave without repairs, and I’d need to hire a couple of techs for the trip to assist Mazz. If any can be found…” He began to trail off in the logistics of Yvette’s idea.
She watched him steadily for a while.
“I am going. You said that, remember?”
Richard grinned through a haze of schedules. “Of course. Who else would I share dessert with?”
Yvette hugged him and jumped to the floor, stylus in hand. Richard was about to ask her for his stylus back when she froze and dramatically cupped a hand to her ear.
“They’re awake, Poppy.”
“Awake? Well, then, let’s join them,” said Richard. “We should be proper hosts and make everybody breakfast,” he said.
“Can we try eggs and bacon?”
• • •
After breakfast, Richard, Grace, and Raj discussed trip preparations. Quint, who had eaten very little, sat next to Yvette, listening to the conversation. To Richard, he looked distant but aware. Probably trying to cope with the events of the past two days, including a long and thorough grilling by Grace last night. The protector had reported that Quint had acted irresponsibly, but was no threat.
During the meal, Richard noted that Grace and Raj were initially tentative regarding the bacon-and-egg pucks. The doctor even took the first bite with his eyes closed. But once they tried them, the visitors from Earth enjoyed the familiar flavor in an unusual shape.
Like Quint, Yvette had also eaten little, even though she’d never had bacon and eggs before. She was too fascinated by the PodPooch. Tim Trouncer’s minor adjustments to his face elicited peals of laughter. Yvette’s favorite was the map of Mars from her atlas, painted over Tim’s mimic coat.
“We should head out to the rim port today,” Richard said, coming back to the matter at hand. “I’ll show you two around the Scout properly. Mazz is a poor tour guide.” He looked at his ptenda, scrolling through his list. “I also need to talk to the shipyard. I hope I can accelerate the repairs on the engines. We’re going to need extra provisions to cover you two, and those will be hard to come by—”
“C-Can I come?” said Quint.
Richard looked at Quint.
“You mean the tour, or the trip itself?”
“Well, umm, both. If you’ll have me.”
“Are you sure you’re up to it? Your nervous system had quite a blast night before last,” Raj noted.
Grace cocked her head. “And are you sure the squads won’t still be looking for you?”
“No, I checked the fact agents this morning.” Quint looked embarrassed. “They said the sniper was neutralized. Yesterday night. I guess it wasn’t me they wanted, after all.”
“Ha!” said Raj, pointing at Grace. “I told you that cannon couldn’t have fired into the street with any accuracy.”
“It wasn’t his only weapon.”
“Making zebras out of horses?” quipped Raj.
Richard held up his hand. “Enough. Maybe it’s better if Quint and I discuss this privately.” He rose from the table. “Follow me, son.”
Richard took Quint to his office and closed the door. He wondered what he’d say. The idea of the boy coming along hadn’t occurred to him. A small ball of stress welled in his stomach. Another soul who wants an adventure, but avoids the obvious question: why are we going, and who’s the old guy leading this exc
ursion? He had told himself there was nothing to be guilty about, but his stomach disagreed. He was responsible for these people now, and the one percent he kept to himself—would it cost them?
“So you want to come with us,” said Richard, sitting down at his desk.
“Yes, sir.”
“Won’t your folks be worried about you?” he asked, motioning Quint to pull a chair closer and make himself comfortable.
Quint shook his head. Richard decided not to delve deeper. Sixteen was a provisional age on Mars. Semi-emancipated. Allowed to seek work, sign most types of contracts, and have independent lodging. The boy, despite Richard’s trepidations, was a Martian adult.
“I hope to interview additional crew today,” Richard said. “I don’t like to fill vacancies on short notice, but if I could find a couple of techs…”
He looked at Quint. The boy wasn’t taking the hint.
“What can you do, Quint?” he asked. “What’s your specialty at the ripe old age of sixteen?” Richard crossed his arms.
At last the boy seemed to understand. He leaned forward, his amber eyes wide and earnest.
“I’ve worked short contracts for general labor. You know, stuff too simple to waste twofer credits on,” Quint said with no embarrassment. “But my dad taught me everything you need to know about RGC comm arrays. And I’ve worked with some of the terraforming crews in the north. Helped with their networks.”
Richard kept himself from smiling, but he liked the boy’s background. It reminded him of his own youth, working on any tech he could get his hands on.
“I worked on a transport once—but just a local at Albor,” continued Quint. “It wasn’t like the planetary cruiser that you have.”
An old hand at interviews, Richard let the quiet grow as he considered, waiting to see what Quint would do with an extended silence. The boy had self-control: he didn’t fidget, didn’t try to fill the empty air with words. After five minutes, Richard nodded sternly.
“Good show, lad. There may be space for you.”
“Really?”
“What would you say to a contract to perform technical supportive services under my twofer’s command and supervision? The contract would end upon return to Elysium Planitia, or until you decide to voluntarily leave the ship.”